


Hansel and Gretel: Picking Up the Breadcrumbs

by DreamingAngelWolf



Category: Hansel and Gretel: Witch Hunters (2013), Hänsel und Gretel | Hansel and Gretel (Fairy Tale)
Genre: Angst, Family, Hurt/Comfort, Mild Gore, Witches, fairy tale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-26
Updated: 2012-11-26
Packaged: 2017-11-19 15:38:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/574885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DreamingAngelWolf/pseuds/DreamingAngelWolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hansel and Gretel are legendary as the super cool, BAMF Witch Hunters, known throughout the world for their skills at saving children and villages alike - they're every little boy and girl's heroes. But things haven't always been as easy as they seem for the two hunters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Out of the Fire and Into the Night

**Author's Note:**

> So this was something I came up with in anticipation of the Hansel and Gretel: Witch Hunters movie that's due for January 2013. I think it looks quite cool, and the idea was a nice twist, so if you haven't already seen the trailer go check it out! Anyway, this is a look at the inbetween years, from that fateful day to maybe a year or so before the film starts (bearing in mind I have no idea of ages or whatnot - this is purely my own shiz!). A bit of angst, an over-protective Hansel, and some goriness. Hope you enjoy! x

_He deserves this, part of him thinks. After all, it’s his fault they’re here; if only he’d tried to get along with their step-mother, had tried to reason with Father, had used something instead of breadcrumbs. At least Gretel seemed okay – that was what mattered. He still got to see her, every evening when she came with food. And it was good food… too good. He made sure she took some for herself, as an apology of sorts for letting her down._

_But sometimes all she needed was a hug, and because of the wretched bars of the cage he was curled up in, even that simple gesture was impossible. She was knelt in front of him now, tears gushing down her dirty face, and Hansel was trying to remember the last time in his nine years he’d seen her cry so hard. As he reached in vain to at least take hold of her shoulder, he caught sight of a pair of feet at the top of a dark staircase. A shrill voice started shrieking, and Gretel’s eyes widened with fear as the feet began to descend quickly. Before she could hide the half-eaten food, a gnarled hand reached down and struck her across the face._

_“No!” he heard himself cry. “Leave her alone, she’s only seven!” But that same hand was suddenly reaching into his prison, and sharp, pointed fingernails were tearing through his clothes as he desperately backed away. The bars behind him felt like ice, freezing his skin and making him whimper pathetically. The grip was iron-strong, and he was being pulled against his will – and then suddenly his eyes were stinging from the heat of the fire, and the sound of screaming reverberated round his skull._

_Except it wasn’t him screaming; it was her. It was the hag, her face pressed up against the oven window, wrinkled skin reddening as it blistered. When her gums started to bleed, Hansel grabbed his sister’s hand and fled. He took her out into the cold, running at full pelt, as though the witch would be on his heels if he looked over his shoulder, burns and blood and all. He had to get away – he had to get Gretel away._

_“Hansel!”_

_The witch could take him, but not her._

_“Hansel wait!”_

_She was too young. He should have made her go with Father!_

_“Slow down! You’re going too fast!”_

_“Don’t stop, Gretel!” he called out to her. “You mustn’t stop running!”_

_“But I’m tired!”_

_“I’m not going to let her hurt you.” He stopped in his tracks, pushing her small body ahead of him. “Go! Keep running!” And she did; and Hansel watched as his sister disappeared into the dark trees, vaguely wondering why he wasn’t going with her._

_Then he heard them: the whispers, the snuffles, the breaking twigs. His heart pounded, even as he felt all the blood drain from his face. There were worse things out there than witches… and he’d just sent his sister into their jaws._

_“Gretel!”_

***

From her own bed, Gretel watched sadly as her brother twitched and grunted in fitful sleep. Frowning, she drew her knees up under her chin with a sigh, wishing there was something she could do. It was too early yet to tell whether he would wake up from this nightmare or not. If he did, then maybe she’d be able to help. She knew what he would say: that she was only sixteen, that he should be able to take care of himself as well as her. It was those times that Gretel wanted to smack her brother for being so big-headed and prideful. What kind of sister would she be if she didn’t help the only sibling she had ever known? The only person who had ever cared about her?

Hansel jerked suddenly, and Gretel couldn’t take it; not caring for stealth she slipped out of the bed and stepped across to his, sitting on the edge against his back (he was hot – she could feel the heat radiating off him before she even sat down). Carefully, she reached out and rested her hand on his head, stroking his hair tenderly like she vaguely remembered their mother doing – their real mother. It seemed to take forever, but soon Hansel was leaning into the touch, his breathing steady, muscles relaxed. He’d rolled over so that he was facing her, and his head was nearly in her lap; if she wanted him to stay this deeply asleep, Gretel knew she’d have to remain where she was and forsake sleep herself. It didn’t matter, she decided. Hansel would do the same for her in a heartbeat.


	2. First Taste

Starting out as hunters hadn’t been easy. In fact, in the very beginning, it had sort of started by accident. They had eventually (and mercifully) wound up in a village that bordered the strange woods, but one that was a far cry from home. Desperate for some kind of shelter, Hansel had appealed to the local carpenter, explaining their father’s background as a woodcutter and promising service in return for food. Gretel, too, threw in what little sewing skills she knew, and after a heavy bit of grovelling the old carpenter relented and took them both in.

Thus their life in a third ‘home’ began – and, as they expected, it was vastly different to what they were used to. The work was as hard as ever, which was some small comfort, but for once they were warm and decently fed. Hansel worked well under the carpenter’s tutelage, and his wife taught Gretel the finer points of needlework as well as other housekeeping necessities. They even received basic reading and writing tuition, and sometimes the brother and sister wondered if they’d discovered what it was like to be part of a real, caring family. 

At night, though, they could no longer pretend that they lived such a life. Hansel rarely slept for long despite being exhausted by his day’s work. His nightmares, in turn, kept Gretel awake, and because the carpenter and his wife were old and going deaf it fell on her to comfort him and soothe him back to sleep – if he let her. The witch haunted their dreams, and Gretel was worried they’d never be able to escape her.

A couple of years later that fear came to light. Hansel, now thirteen years old, was returning from cutting wood in the forest when he heard an odd sound. Looking back over his shoulder, he was horrified to see what looked like two people flying on sticks above his head towards the village. As they drew closer, he realised they were the very stuff of his nightmares: strange clothes, twisted features, wild hair, and barbaric body painting. Witches. And they were headed towards his village.

Thinking first of his sister and then of the villagers, Hansel dropped his wood and sprinted towards the houses. As he ran, brain trying to work out exactly what he was going to do when he reached Gretel, there was the sound of something exploding, and he found himself once again staring at a soaring fire cloud, billowing up over the area that had been the village centre. Stopping only for a second to comprehend the destruction, Hansel powered on, knowing that each step brought him closer to saving people he cared about.

“Gretel!” he called, hurtling into the chaos. Smoke and fire surrounded the cobblestone circle he stood in, and he could see families streaming from burning houses or crumbling stalls. “Gretel!” he yelled again, worried she wouldn’t hear him over the crashing sound of wood and stone.

“Hansel!”

Whipping his head round, Hansel screwed his eyes shut as his face was smothered by smoke, the soot flying into his lungs and making him cough. He managed to squint through his watering eyes in time to see a small figure fling itself at him, burying her face into his shoulder and squeezing him hard. “Gretel? Is that you?”

“There are witches!” she cried. “They’ve come to destroy the village! They already burnt down the shops, and now they’re going to attack the houses!” His sister gripped his shirt tightly. “Hansel, what will we do?”

Without hesitation, he took her hand and said, “We’re leaving,” tugging her away from the burning wreckages as he did so. Gretel didn’t question him.

They hurried through the village together, hand in hand, ducking between shouting men and wailing women with terrified children as they sought an exit from the chaotic settlement. Just when they thought they were nearing the road, a high-pitched scream caught their attention. Looking back, the siblings paled at the sight of the two witches bent over a group of small children, nasty grins splitting their ugly faces.

“Which one shall we eat first, hmm?” one of them sneered, licking her lips as her accomplice giggled maniacally.

“The boys, one of the boys!” she crowed. “They always taste so much nicer than them girls.” The two boys in question shrank away in fear. None of the four children could have been older than six.

The first witch rubbed her skeletal fingers together. “Right then,” she said. “Best not let them go to waste!” Eyes wide with hunger, she reached for one of the small boys. The sound of a gun going off promptly stopped her, though – in fact, it outright killed her. The children screamed as the witch’s head exploded from her shoulders, showering them in blood, pieces of hairy skull, and brains. The lifeless body dropped on top of them next, and they scrambled desperately to push it off.

Hansel stared. He couldn’t even remember picking up the shotgun, let alone knowing how to use it and where to aim. Sure, he’d seen his father use it once or twice during winter, when the wolves would come too close for comfort, but he’d never even held a firearm in his life. He was thirteen! Why would he need to?

The second witch’s eyebrows went sky high, her grin flipping into a downward-curved gasp of horror. Slowly, almost jerkily, she turned to where Hansel stood with the gun, her blue-painted skin suddenly a frightening mixture of blue, red, orange and green under the ever-growing fires. Still in shock, Hansel stared back at her, wondering what happened to his concept of time.

“You – shot – my – sister!” the witch suddenly screeched, her distraught expression suddenly morphing into one of hatred, and before Hansel could work out what that meant for him she launched herself at the boy, teeth bared and clawed hands eager to rip his own head from his shoulders – that is, until a knife embedded itself in the side of her neck. Her banshee scream was cut off with an odd gargle, and she dropped from mid-air like a dead pheasant. Stunned, she lifted a hand up to the knife, staring dumbly at the blood on her hands and clothes. She made a choked noise of surprise before pitching sideways, further embedding the knife and effectively ending her life.

Still huddled together, the blood-covered children watched Hansel and Gretel with awed fear. Blinking, Hansel turned to his sister, who still remained in a knife-throwing position. Catching his bewildered expression, she shrugged a little, then forced herself to relax and ran to his side. He gave her a quick hug, feeling proud and shocked that she had used the witch’s knife so well, before realising the children were still there. “Go on,” he said, being careful not to wave the gun around. “Go find your families, quickly. They won’t hurt you anymore.”

As if he’d threatened them himself the children scrambled to their feet, one girl tripping over her dress as she did so. The siblings watched them run, then glanced back at the dead bodies before them. “Should we burn them?” Gretel asked eventually. Her brother nodded, though he didn’t say why, and together they dragged the corpses over to a burning stall. With the smell of burning flesh in their nostrils, Hansel and Gretel took off into the wind and once more started running – but not before Hansel had picked up the shotgun.


	3. There's Always One

When Gretel awoke, it was to an uncomfortable stiffness in her back and shoulders, the price she paid for sleeping sitting on the edge of her brother’s bed. Groaning, she rolled her neck from side to side, stretching her arms out in a vain attempt to rid herself of the discomfort. It was nothing she couldn’t handle, but this time it had been self-inflicted. She could easily blame Hansel, like any normal sibling would, but that would be grossly unfair.

Gretel looked down at the spot where her brother’s head had been, only mildly surprised to see it now vacant. Blinking the last remnants of sleep from her eyes, she saw him sat up with his back to her, already half-dressed and looking at a fresh wound under a bandage she’d put on him last night. He sensed she was watching, and when their eyes met he graced her with a tiny scowl. She knew that look – it was what he used when he couldn’t decide to thank her or be mad at her. “How do you feel?” he asked gruffly, turning his attention back to the bandage.

“Stiff,” she admitted. “You?”

“I’m fine.” He winced as he tugged on part of the bandage that had caught on the stitching, and Gretel rolled her eyes.

“Here,” she insisted, moving to kneel behind him. Swatting his fingers away she worked gently but quickly, removing the old bandage and double checking the stitches. They were holding nicely (she had the carpenter’s wife to thank for her skills) and didn’t look about to break, so she settled for dressing it with a new covering. Hansel twitched impatiently under her hands, and she wondered if that would ever change; his lack of patience seeped into their ‘work’ too, and his back alone was testament to the numerous times he’d given up on waiting and sneaking. Last night was one such instance – he’d insisted on playing the hero, again leaving Gretel behind to play the ‘carer’ for the victims. The gash on his shoulder was just a tiny fraction of what had happened as a result.

“It wasn’t your fault,” she murmured to him as she passed the bandage under his arm. 

Hansel stopped twitching. “I should have spotted her,” he said in a monotone.

“It wouldn’t have made a difference.”

“You know that?” he shot back, the faintest of tremors in his tone. “If we’d have gotten there sooner, Gretel, if we’d been just a little bit faster – tell me that wouldn’t have made a difference!”

***

“Everybody out!”

Gretel swiftly cut through the rope that held the rest of the children and repeated her brother’s words. “Come on everyone, get outside the camp! Go!” she cried, pointing through the trees. “Back to the village, quickly!” The children did as they were told, some limping while others ran. Those who tried to stay behind, either to see what happened to their captor or to try and thank the hunters, were quickly ushered away. When the last ones were finally a safe distance away, Gretel returned to her brother’s side, letting her crossbow hang loosely as she studied their latest conquest.

Hansel held her at gunpoint against a tree. Her head was almost shaven bare, and she’d painted her body in a style resembling a tiger’s coat but in colours of green, black and yellow. Piercings adorned her ears and face, bangles covered her arms, and all she wore otherwise was an orange striped shawl haphazardly pinned at one shoulder. It wouldn’t have surprised Gretel if it was actually attached to her flesh. She was grinning at them with wild, violet eyes, her teeth sharpened like her fingernails. 

“Well Gretel, what should we do with this one?” Hansel asked casually, never taking his eyes off the hag in front of him. His gun stayed steady and level, despite the fresh wound at his shoulder staining the black leather of his coat.

Gretel shrugged. “Same as all the others. Blow off her head and burn her.”

A twisted smile formed on her brother’s lips as he shook his head. “No, that’s too easy,” he said. “I think we should make the bitch suffer.”

She rolled her eyes. “Hansel, it’s been a long day and I want to go home,” she moaned. “Get with the decapitating already.”

At that point, the witch’s face screwed up as her maw opened wide, and a hissing cackle sent a nauseous wave up their spines. “The Witch Hunters!” she crowed with glee. “Oh, how I’ve longed to meet you!” Her voice was grating, and the way she dragged out the vowels of the last word clearly showed how typically insane she was.

Hansel smirked. “Glad to see our reputation precedes us,” he replied.

“Yes, it does!” she gushed, nodding too hard. Her features became warped again as she giggled, daring to lean forward against the shotgun’s nozzle. “Everybody knows about the trail of blood you leave behind,” she whispered, eyes burning with something close to excitement.

No longer smirking, Hansel shoved the shotgun hard against her chest, making her shriek as she fell backwards. Without missing a beat, he angled it down, quickly aimed, and pulled the trigger, shattering her skull as he had done with her three sisters mere moments ago. The gun’s echo took a long time in fading, but when it did the silence was reassuring and definite.

Behind him, Gretel sighed. “Finally!” she said, already walking away for firewood. “Can we please torch ‘em now? I wanna go back and wash bitch blood out of my hair.”

Hansel lowered the gun, absently flicking a piece of flesh off his coat. It would be tough to work out the rest of the blood stains, but at least it would give him something to do tonight (and it would probably give him an idea of how much was his own blood). Staring dispassionately at the headless body on the earth one last time, he allowed himself to revel in the fact that she knew who they were, then he turned to go and help his sister collect firewood.

Lazily scanning the ground for something substantial, Hansel’s eyes stopped on something that didn’t look right. He blinked and looked closer, and what he saw made his blood run cold. Lying on the leafy floor, partially camouflaged thanks to the colour of her dress, was a young girl of maybe six or seven years old. Even from a distance away he could see the way she shook violently, arms wrapped feebly around her stomach, and her skin was too pale to be healthy – especially for a child kept captive by a witch.

Without thinking about it Hansel was by her side, gently but urgently checking her small frame for any injury. He found none, but still the girl continued to shake and whimper in his arms. She also felt dangerously cold. Scanning for Gretel, who was too far away to be seen, Hansel tried to reassure the child as best he could. “Hey, don’t worry,” he said, trying to sound calm. “You’re gonna be fine. The witches are gone now, nothing’s coming to hurt you. My name’s Hansel – what’s yours?”

It was fruitless and he knew it – of course she couldn’t reply. As he watched, a thin trickle of blood ran from the corner of her mouth, and she widened her eyes in pure terror. She was dying, and she knew it; six years old and she knew her death was here. She gasped for breath, clutching at the material of his coat as tears started to fall down her face… and Hansel was helpless. 

“Shh,” he whispered as she struggled to breathe. “It’s okay, it’s okay.” He brushed her cheeks lightly, shifting her in his hold so she was pressed against him carefully. “I’m sorry,” he told her as the light in her eyes dimmed slowly, “I’m so sorry.”

When Gretel returned she never would have expected to find her brother sat on the forest floor, a dead child in his arms, her head tucked under his chin as he absently rocked her. If not for the blood and the despondent look in his eyes, she would have guessed he was helping her sleep.

They’d never lost a child before.

***

“Did you see the look in her father’s eyes?” he asked sullenly. He stared down at his hands. “It was like his world had just collapsed. And her mother…”

Finishing off the dressing, Gretel looped her arms round his neck. “I felt horrible, too,” she murmured. 

She felt him shake his head. “There must have been something else I could’ve done; if I had –”

“Stop saying ‘I’!” she told him, raising her voice and moving away, causing him to look at her, startled. “We’re a team, you know! I’m as much to blame here as you are!” He opened his mouth to speak but she cut him off. “And don’t tell me that I’m too young. Two years is nothing, Hansel, not any more! I’m just as good a hunter as you’ve always been. Stop trying to be the hero all the time and let me shoulder the weight too!”

Hansel scowled at her again. “You’re sixteen.”

“And?”

“You shouldn’t have to worry about me so much.”

“Bullshit. Everything you’ve seen I’ve seen too. I’ve killed witches quite easily without your help in case you hadn’t noticed, and I’m more than willing to patch you up after you go nearly sacrificing yourself!” He looked away then, but Gretel firmly tugged his chin back round to face her. “Hansel, you’ll always be my big brother, and I’ll never stop loving you – but please stop treating me like a child,” she asked.

Stone grey eyes searched her face for several long seconds, taking in the bruise on her cheek and the slight cut above her eyebrow, her messy, blood and mud-stained hair, and the spark in her own brown eyes that didn’t represent how passionate she could be. Hansel knew, though, and he also knew that she was right: she wasn’t the seven-year-old girl he vowed to protect anymore. His sister was a young woman, and was as perfectly capable of handling herself in battle as she was with a needle and thread. “You’re right,” he sighed. “I’m sorry.”

Her answering smile was warm and sympathetic, and he allowed himself to be pulled into a soft embrace. “Thank you,” she said into his ear. When they pulled apart, the spark of passion had turned into one of mischief. “So – does this mean I get to use the shotgun sometime now?”

“Not a chance.”


	4. Sweet Dreams

Being thrown to the floor was never a pleasant experience. Gretel had been tossed around like a rag doll more times than she cared to think about, and she was fairly certain that one of the worst places to be thrown to the floor in was an inn room, where floor space was often minimal and unforgiving. There were also walls, either stone ones or wooden, and they just added to the whole bruising sensation. As it was, this time she was being thrown onto a wooden floor, sliding backwards slightly so that she hit the equally wooden wall, hitting her head and making herself dizzy. Bonus bruise. She was used to all this, of course, so it was nothing she couldn’t recover from quickly enough.

What she wasn’t used to was her brother being the attacker.

Righting herself as much as she could, Gretel had barely enough time to register the fact that he was coming at her again, hands finding her throat before she could even begin to defend herself. She wrestled against his hold, digging her fingernails into the crooks of his elbows and any other sensitive spot she could reach – but his arms were longer than hers, and her efforts came to nothing. “Hansel!”

“You bitch!” he spat, eyes filled with undiluted hatred. “What did you do to her? Why did she have to die in my arms?!”

Ten minutes ago, Gretel had been rudely awoken by the sound of her brother screaming. She’d reacted instantly, leaping out of her bed to bring him back to reality from whatever hell he’d dreamt up. Normally, it was an event from the last five years, and more often than not she’d wake him up, convince him he was safe then help him clean their weapons or sit and drink until he fell asleep again. But occasionally – and these occasions were very rare – he wouldn’t quite wake up, and Gretel would find herself ‘responsible’ for whatever tragedy his dreams were taunting her brother about. Now she knew who she was in this particular episode, it was a case of getting through to him before he killed her.

“I didn’t – Hansel, I’m not one of the Animi Sisters! That was five years ago!” she choked out, squeezing her eyes shut as his grip tightened.

“You filthy hags have ruined my life,” he continued. “You forced me into a cage and enslaved my sister for fun. You torment children, destroy innocent people, and you defile yourselves for pleasure!” He shook his head. “You’re disgusting!”

“Hansel! Please, it’s me!”

“Were you ever even human?”

She started to cry. “You’re dreaming, Hansel!”

“You’re going to pay for what you did to her,” he warned. “You and all your scumbag sisters. You’ll pay for every child I couldn’t save – and I’ll make sure your end is as slow as hers was.”

Desperate, Gretel tried one last time to reach him, knowing that if this attempt failed, she may not live much longer. “Hans!”

Her brother blinked, the rage on his face receding to be replaced by confusion. His hold on her throat loosened a little, and that was all Gretel needed. Using the last reserves of her energy she raised her leg and swung her foot into the side of his head, grimacing at the blunt pain that flared up in her already-bruised ankle. Hansel grunted, one hand flying up to cover the spot she kicked him as his head snapped round, and Gretel welcomed the sudden rush of air down her throat. It burned slightly to heave in the dust, and she coughed hard enough to come close to passing out; but she held onto consciousness, blinking through the dizzy haze and tears to find her brother.

Hansel still had a hand over his temple, staring at her in a mixture of horror and confusion. He blinked a couple of times, searching for the divide between dream and reality – and, as his memories showed him what he’d done, he was sickened by what he saw. “Gret?”

Hearing him use the long-forgotten nickname, Gretel caved and gave way to the frightened child inside her. Her throat ached fiercely as she started to sob, chest tightening to a point that she thought she’d never be able to breathe again, and she found she could no longer see through the thick veil of tears that flooded her vision. Seeing his sister break down like this shocked Hansel, and he immediately moved to wrap her in his arms, whispering soothing nonsense in her ear and stroking her back until she quieted enough to be able to breathe again. She stayed curled up against his chest for a long time, with nothing but the sound of their heartbeats between them. 

“What will we be like in two years’ time?” she asked in a hushed tone after a while.

Taken aback by the question, Hansel had honestly thought his sister was asleep. Sensing that she wasn’t asking lightly, he thought hard about his answer. “I’m not sure,” he eventually said. “We’ll still be hunting, I guess, and maybe we’ll be better at it. We’ll be a better team, a more efficient one.” He let slip a wry smile. “Maybe we’ll have a pet.”

She sniffed, and laughed. “Like what?”

“A wolfhound,” he said without hesitation. “He’ll be an expert tracker, utterly fearless and unwaveringly loyal – but with a soft side. He’ll be ticklish.”

She shook her head. “Only you would say that.”

“Only I would say a lot of things.”

Gretel nodded in agreement; then, almost tentatively, she uncurled herself, moving to sit back against the wall. Hansel shifted so that he sat next to her, and she tilted her head to rest it on his good shoulder. “Do you think people will still welcome us?” she asked quietly.

“I hope so,” was his murmured response. “The world probably knows who we are now. I wouldn’t be surprised if people were as scared of us as they are desperate to seek our aid, though.”

“Are you never worried about that?” Gretel frowned. “What if one day the tables are turned, and we’re the ones being hunted?”

Turning his head a little, Hansel pressed a kiss to the top of his sister’s head. “It won’t come to that,” he assured her. “Like I said: we’re going to get better at what we do. Any witch who decides to come after you and me is more brainless than usual. And even if we do end up being hunted, I’ve got your back, and I know you’ve got mine.” He paused. “We don’t need anyone else, Gret. We’ve always been fine just you and me.”

“But what about this wolfhound?” Gretel teased, a smile forming on her lips.

Hansel hummed. “Oh, we’ll find one someday,” he said. “Think we should call him Butch.”

Gretel laughed, and before long her brother was laughing with her. It was genuine laughter, something neither of them could remember feeling since the day they lost their mother, another lifetime ago. Had anyone walked in on them both now, sat bruised and bedraggled on the inn floor, they would never have understood the scene they saw before them. Hansel and Gretel may have been slightly damaged twenty-something year olds, but at the end of the day that didn’t matter to them – what mattered was that, whatever life threw at them, they would tackle it side by side.

And they would kick its ass every time.


End file.
